The Living Pattern
The aviary hums with wings,
Each call a thread in skyward strings.
The flock is many, yet not apart—
One body, beating from one heart.
Diversity becomes the rule
Of wisdom learned in feathered school.
She reads the leaves in porcelain rim,
Her gaze is soft, her silence dim.
No future shown, no fate declared—
Just pattern sensed, and presence shared.
She sees what isn’t in the cup,
And sips the truth that rises up.
